


Remains

by xagentofchaos



Series: I feel like going home, I feel like going on [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 4x07, Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Murphamy - Freeform, Murphy's POV, Unresolved Emotional Tension, abby is everyone's mom, anger issues, emori and murphy are not together, i don't know what to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10470993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xagentofchaos/pseuds/xagentofchaos
Summary: Unresolved feelings and probably what would've happened it Bellamy followed Clarke to the island.- We're your careless mistakesWe're the spirits you raisedWe are what remains -





	

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm not very good at summaries.)
> 
> All the grammar mistakes, misspellings, etc belongs to me. I can give them up though, if there is anything that bothers your reading. I'm an excellent editor. 
> 
> Enjoy!

He tries to pretend everything’s fine. Music is on loud, occupying his mind from destructive thoughts. Princess questions his cooking skills, he’s being hostile. She’s surprised, he shrugs his shoulders; pretending everything’s okay. 

He and Emori got the house, for now. It’s meant for everyone but Abby and Raven are busy saving the world. He’s always been about saving himself, so he gladly took the house. _I see a bad moon a-rising, I see trouble on the way_ , the singer sings through the subwoofer. It’s loud but almost not loud enough to block unwanted thoughts. He continues cooking; Emori takes Princess on a tour. 

He doesn’t have to turn around to know that Rebel King is right there, staring at him. 

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks, not turning around. 

“You keep showing up in places I least expect you to be.”

“Perhaps you’re a planet and I’m the gravity keeping you close.” He cringes on the inside, Rebel King doesn’t answer. He hears him walk away, probably to catch up with Emori and Princess on the house tour. _Don’t go ‘round tonight, it’s bound to take your life, there’s a bad moon on the rise._

Dinner is done. It can’t take too long for Emori to show them around, so he sets the plates and walks off to find them. He’s not some housewife to shout at them to get their asses back. He wouldn’t strain his throat for those people again. 

He finds them in the master bedroom, and almost bumps into Emori who was finding her way out. She breaks out in a gentle laughter, shoving him playfully aside. He grins widely at her and boxes her arm, fifty percent gentle and fifty percent not. She can take it. She basically trained him on Grounder-level out in the wild. 

“When you’re done being a guide, food’s done”, he announces and dodges away before she can hit him back and receives a proud gleam from her; telling him that he did good. She takes off to the kitchen, like an excited child. Hunger does that for her, he’s noticed. Before he walks after her, he turns around slightly to the Princess and her King. “There’s enough for you too.” Pretending to be hostile, he hopes his act isn’t too transparent. He’s not in the mood for arguments. In the corner of his eye, before he turns back around to follow Emori, he sees a hesitation in both. But somewhere in their mindsets, they decide to grab a bite. 

Dinner is quiet. Neither awkward nor comfortable. Not tense, not calm. He’s having Emori in front of him, Princess on his right side, and Rebel King is by Emori’s side. None of them talks, they just lets the careful chewing be the noise. Emori had shut the music off, for some reason. Maybe she didn’t like the song, but Murphy could swear by the way her eyes darts around in the room she regrets that decision. 

He can feel Rebel King’s eyes on him again. They don’t burn like they have more than twice in their time together, but they don’t feel good on his skin. He shifts in his seat in hope to shake the eyes off of him, but they’re set. He swallows a bite, shifts again, and then looks back. He notices a twitch in the man, an almost invisible frown on his freckled skin, and then nothing. Just the regular judgmental look that’s making Murphy’s skin crawl in irritation. Again, he’s not in the mood for arguments so he doesn’t call the man out on it, but he makes sure to show him by staring back like alpha on alpha. Daring, competitive. Challenging. 

The man’s jaw is working. 

Murphy’s heart is beating. Fast. Hard. 

“This was almost as good as the squirrel in that abandoned house, you remember?” 

His eyes snap away from Bellamy’s to look at Emori, eyes darting between her pair. He remembers the squirrel. He doesn’t know if it’s always been a good tasting meat, or if the radiation made it better. She doesn’t wait for an answer, and Murphy knows her gameplay. He never told her about what happened back then, about the hanging, but she knows he’s never been allowed to fit back in. He’s told her some, just fragments. She’s smart though, she figures out a lot of things on her own. 

She rises to her feet when everyone’s done. He can’t seem to move properly. 

“I’ll help you”, Rebel King offers. He doesn’t receive a grateful smile, Murphy’s glad. 

His knuckles are whitened on his legs underneath the table. Heart still beating impossibly hard. It’s the Princess’ turn to watch him, but her eyes are way more careful and worried than the man’s. He knows she doesn’t trust him, not by a long shot, and for a reason he still can’t really grasp but hasn’t bothered to think about it too much. She’s got doctor’s blood in her; being worried is probably in her DNA naturally. She can’t help it, but he is generally not someone to be worried about. 

He’s fine. He just can’t seem to breathe normally. 

But when her hand finds its way to his shoulder, he dodges away quickly with a surprised hitch. Glaring at her, he stands up. Her mouth opens, probably to apologize, but closes it quickly when she realizes he’s ready to bolt if she talks. 

“I need to go to Raven, she gets cranky when I’m not there to be her punching bag”, he mutters and pushes the chair underneath the table. Emori looks up at him from the sink; he merely gives her a look of apology before walking towards the front door. 

He can’t do this, not right now. 

“Someone should go with you”, Princess calls out before he have the time to step out in the dark. 

“I can find my way back perfectly fine, Princess. I’ve been here longer than you”, he calls back. 

“It’s not safe”, she tries but he just snorts. 

“As if you care about my safety”, he says grimly while stepping into his shoes. “You banished me in the dark.” Then he disappears before anyone could interfere. He hadn’t brought his jacket, but he’s not generally freezing outside. Being on the road and constantly outside has made his skin more adaptable to the weather. Or he’s just learned to ignore the cold. 

The walk back isn’t too long, but it seems longer when sun’s down. It doesn’t bother him. He’s counting numbers in his head, trying to ease down his rushing blood. It’s a trick he learned in space through therapy, but never learned to master until he met Emori. She’s helped him a lot, whether she meant to or not. Just being near her brings calm to his bones, and she’s the closest to a best friend and sister he’s ever dreamed of having. She brought some humanity back to him that’s been stored in the back of his skull, unable to come out when he had no one to be humane to. 

Now he’s left her alone with the two people he distrusts the most. Not that she can’t defend herself if it ever got to that, or can’t throw some mean comebacks; she’s survived her whole life around just one person that didn’t wish her any harm. If she was someone else then Murphy wouldn’t feel the twinges of guilt going through his core, but she’s not someone else. She’s Emori, and he left her with the wolves. 

But it’s safer like this. Truth is, he realizes as he steps into the lab where Jackson is the only one working while Abby and Raven is sleeping on the desks and Luna is god knows where, he wasn’t going for Raven. He would’ve exploded if he stayed in that house any longer. He hopes Emori can see that. If not, he’d have to own up to her for whatever time she needed him to prove himself. He could handle that. 

Jackson greets him with a short nod when he looks up from the microscope; Murphy nods back and sits down on an office chair. He’s not for a good use for them right now, whether or not Raven was awake and ready to spew off her anger in the rocket ship that wouldn’t launch anyway. But his own anger tantrums are ready to combust off of his tongue and through his knuckles. The counting never actually works; they just keep his head up higher for a moment until the anger has eased down a little. 

After a while, Abby wakes up. Murphy notices on her paled skin and dark rings underneath her eyes that she can’t have been sleeping deep for a long time. She blinks slowly at him through a layer of haze and blur, until she smiles warmly. Another twinge goes through him, his chest this time, and it’s made of confusion and longing. He’s been having those sensations lately, especially since coming to this lab where Abby has been. She’s the mother he’s always hoped having since his dad got floated. And it hurts. And he damns himself for thinking about it, since aggressive tears are forming in his eyes. They’re easy to ignore and he wipes them away in secret. 

“You met Clarke and Bellamy, I assume”, Abby says to him. He doesn’t respond. Partly because he really don’t want to talk about it, and partly because Clarke is Abby’s daughter. Spilling his hatred for that girl is a suicide mission. 

But truthfully, he doesn’t hate Clarke. He’s always found her bratty attitude annoying and he feels like she thinks she’s better than anyone else, but he doesn’t hate her. Not anymore. Of course, there was a time in his life when he condemned her death multiple times in his head, but it was more of a way to move on from his trauma. He would never act out on it, not like he did to Bellamy. 

Quickly, he pushes all the thoughts he’s ever had of Bellamy out of his skull to not torture himself any further. It’d be a long night if he let that go on. Frowning, he rubs his palm over his face. Seems like his unconsciousness wants him to stay at the lab the whole night. Emori is really not going to be happy with him in the morning. 

Hours are passing; Raven woke up a while ago. Luna emerged from her hiding spot, and they continued where they left off. The one thousand and fifth time Raven would try to go to space and back with one less barrel of gasoline than before. Yeah, it’s going to work great. 

There is another plan that doesn’t have to involve space and Raven’s certain death, but no volunteers to go through with it. Murphy has eyed the human-sizeable torture chamber many times during these hours. An uncomfortable shiver goes through him. He’s been tortured before, but never by radiation. 

There are bruises on his biceps when Raven is done with lashing out her reaction over the obvious failure. Most of the times he’s able to dodge them, but sometimes he allows her a punch. Because he’s nice and because he knows the later hits will be worse if he keeps being a little bitch and dodge. She never thanks him, and never apologizes. He doesn’t expect her to. But there is one extra hard punch that reflects an apology in her eyes, and made him dramatically voice his pain.

“Ow, what the hell man, calm down”, he grits between his teeth and rubs his arm. 

“So this is what you went off doing.” Murphy’s blood went cold when he hears the voice behind him talk. 

“Told you, didn’t I?” He murmurs, trying to play it cool. “This one is even more aggressive than me.” He steps away from Raven’s punching zone and retreats to the office chair again, feeling Bellamy’s eyes fixed on him as he sits down. “Lucky her you didn’t bring belt straps, I hear red is the hottest color this season.” It slips out of his mouth before he has time to register the burning thought in his brain. He plays it off with a supposed charming smile but it comes out as a grimace. Bellamy frowns but doesn’t say anything. Instead he turns his heel and walks off to Abby, probably to ask if he can help with anything. He will be declined, unless he’s got any science skills underneath the freckles and brood. Murphy doubts it. There are more muscles than brain in that man. 

Murphy sighs and rubs his face again, rougher this time. His eyes stings with tiredness but if Bellamy had joined the club of sweat, frustration and tears then he won’t allow himself even to slumber for a second. He can’t give himself that fake sense of tranquility. Moments like that are the ones that almost got him killed. 

“You should talk to him.” 

He almost jumps out the chair from the scare, and rotates to face Raven looking at him with amused eyes. She nods over to Bellamy who was giving himself a tour around the lab, when Murphy looked at her incredulously. 

“I take it you haven’t talked to him in ages”, she continues. “Or even at all.”

“I just did”, he mutters but when she raises her eyebrow at him he huffs. It doesn’t matter if he’s ever held a proper conversation with Bellamy ‘Rebel King’ Blake, since he didn’t want to. It was too late now, anyway. If Bellamy wanted to talk, then talk, but he couldn’t expect Murphy to withhold hostility since that opportunity has been blown for a long time. 

“Forgive yourself and talk to him”, she tells him and anger is boiling in him again.

“God, not you too. I can’t forgive myself for anything because I’m not in the wrong here! I didn’t fucking do anything, why should I forgive _myself_ and no one else should forgive _me_?” he growls, louder than he had anticipated as four pairs of eyes watches him with four different emotions. As Abby shushes at him to be quiet, and he shuts his mouth in defeat, Jackson is looking mildly amused and Luna probably thinks he’s being immature. And Bellamy… 

Bellamy has a wild range of emotions going through his eyes. Murphy sees flickers of irritation and confusion battle with each other. What surprises him is the sadness that pushes through and he has to look away to not get intrigued. Swallowing, he rotates the chair so that his back is fixated on Bellamy. He can’t, not now. 

“Sometimes you need to be the first one to speak up if you want an apology”, Raven whispers. “He’s just as stubborn as you are.” 

“I don’t want an apology from him”, he sneers quietly, not letting anyone hear his inner turmoil other than Raven. “He wouldn’t be sorry if I was dead by now, so why would he be sorry that it happened?” At that, Raven doesn’t continue. Murphy’s glad, if it had been going on any longer he’d have to get out of this building too. There are only so many places on this god’s forsaken island that he could pretend to be fine. Soon he’s out of acting and will crush his knuckles against a wall or a person. 

He starts spinning on the chair to block everyone out for a minute. It’s just him and the nausea picking up, but he continues. Not terribly fast but fast enough for the world to look like blurry, uneven stripes before his eyes. His foot is kicking the ground and he leans on his elbow for head support. Raven leaves him to his fun; he can see the blurry shape of her wine red jacket walk further away. The spinning doesn’t leave room for unwanted thoughts in his head, so he keeps going. More and more and more. If he throws up, so be it. Anything over the traitorous thoughts that keeps pushing through sometimes. 

It’s when someone spins him around so hard that the chair trips over and he stumbles on the ground that he comes back to reality. He groans in pain from hitting his shoulder on the floor and lies on his back for a moment to adjust his eyes to the still environment. Then he pushes himself up to scold and damn the person, probably Raven, that interrupted his break from thoughts. He’s met with laughter from Emori who’s clasping her hands on her hurting sides, tears streaming down her face in sheer joy. Murphy deadpans at her and rolls his shoulder to get rid of the pulsing pain, but he can’t help but laugh too. 

“You’re such a jackass”, he complains with a gleam in his eyes and shoulders her with his good one when walking pass her still laughing form. “So mean.” 

“You were having too much fun”, she laughs and follows him to wherever he’s going. He snorts and walks up to Abby and Jackson that were bent over something on the ground. Clarke stood there too with a continued worried expression on her face and Bellamy – Murphy didn’t want to look at him in case the thoughts would come rushing back again but he forced himself – had his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. So whatever was on the ground, seemed interesting enough for him as well. 

He sneaks over Abby’s shoulder and is met with an unknown person’s unconscious form. He stares, tries to figure out who he is but doesn’t remember ever seeing him.

“Who’s that?” he asks and turns to Clarke. 

“The answer to all their problems”, Emori speaks up. She’s wearing a secretive look on her, a look that he knows that the others can’t see. 

“He hurt Emori before. He must’ve followed you guys on the road, he tried to kill us and then steal from the house”, Clarke says. Murphy frowns in confusion, but is fine with the explanation. He gives Emori a look that says ‘explain later’ and she nods curtly. 

“Bring him up on the table”, Abby says to them. Emori and Clarke go for the legs so that leaves Murphy and Bellamy with the upper body. 

“You ready?” Emori asks and counts up to three.

“Lift with your legs”, Bellamy tells Murphy and Murphy snorts at him.

“I know how to lift a body”, he says and earns a shocked expression from the man that he sniggers at. They got the body on the table and Abby and Jackson starts buckling him down so he can’t move in case he wakes up during the torture. Or, the scientific experiment for the greater good, as the Griffin’s probably would’ve put it. Even if Abby looked more sorry than her daughter. 

They inject him with night blood and Murphy leaves the room. He’s got a funny feeling fluttering uncomfortably in his stomach, and witnessing a man being put through something that could be torturous for all they knew, wasn’t anything he was in the mood for. He goes to an office where he’s been sitting many times before, hiding one could think, but it was more of a self-hate reflection place. 

He didn’t know how to deal with the thoughts that lingered in the back of his skull. Apart from destroying things or faces, or his own knuckles. They felt worse now, more _there_. Like a dense cloth surrounding his brain, a heavy rock inside it. He haven’t really been able to figure out what they meant, he just knew that they emerged when he got on the ground and got worse and worse after he was hung. Rubbing his face again to inflict some sort of sensation other than the stabbing in his brain, he immediately stopped when he realized he wasn’t alone. 

Looking up just in time for Bellamy to slowly enter the room, he collects his hands on his lap and swung his feet up on the table.

“You also weak-hearted?” he asks the man. “I thought a guy like you would be used to witnessing torture, seeing as it happens a lot around you.”

“Can we talk?” Bellamy huffs, ignoring Murphy’s words but looks a bit annoyed in the dark. Murphy grounds his teeth, pretending to think about it. No, he really didn’t want to talk to Bellamy, but the man wore an insisting look and Murphy already knew he couldn’t fight against it. So he sighed and waved his hand in a gesture that meant that Bellamy was allowed to keep going. “I- I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that, but you never actually mean it.” 

Bellamy’s shoulder slump and a wave of defeat washes over his face. “I do mean it”, he tries but Murphy just rolls his eyes. He’s already done with the conversation. “I know it’s hard to see, I haven’t given you any reason to trust me, but John-“

“Don’t call me that”, Murphy snaps and fire is burning in him. 

“It’s your name-“

“Not to you. You say Murphy or you don’t say anything at all.” Murphy didn’t understand what Bellamy’s deal was. Parts of him didn’t want to understand, they just wanted the man to leave him alone with his self-destructive thoughts. 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Murphy rolls his eyes. “I just wanted you to know that I do mean it. I wish I didn’t do what I did.” With that, he seems ready to leave but inside Murphy was a tornado. The traitorous thoughts had disturbed him all day and close to all night, and here’s the traitor himself interfering in Murphy’s daily dose of self-destruct. Thinking he can just come, conquer and then leave without a scratch. 

He’s boiling of raging fever. “I trusted you”, he wheezes through his gritting teeth. His fingernails are digging into his legs as he tries to contain himself from bursting, but the aggressive side of him is popping through. The sadness in Bellamy’s eyes was back and it provoked Murphy even more. “I did everything you told me to, and yet you kicked the crate.” 

“I know, and I’m so sorry, I-“

“I trusted you!” he screams suddenly, and emerged from the chair and bolts straight at Bellamy who stumbles backwards in surprise. He grabs a hold on Bellamy’s collar and brought both of them on the ground where he uses one hand to punch the man in the face. “I trusted you with everything I fucking had and you kicked the crate!” He is so angry he saw nothing but black. His body acts on months of anger that had built up inside of him, fear of dying, hurt from what Bellamy had said and done. “Don’t fucking say you’re sorry because you’re fucking not! You tried to kill me, you fucking tried to kill me for something I didn’t fucking do!” He punches and he punches, Bellamy does nothing to stop him. 

But the others do as they emerged to the room where they are; Murphy on top of Bellamy who is bleeding and tried to hide his face from further attacks. Murphy is wild, like a rabid animal. Jackson grabs a hold of him and forces him away from the man who got help up by Clarke. Murphy kicks Jackson’s legs and tries to scratch the man, while screaming at Bellamy. “Then you banished me and I was tortured for three fucking days! You still wanted me dead after I came back, you son of a bitch. Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry, because you wanted to fucking shoot me when I came back from the Grounders!” 

“Bring him to the isolation room!” Abby demands and Jackson drags the raging Murphy in his arms. He tries to snake out of Jackson’s grip to jump back on Bellamy but Jackson is stronger and has a better advantage point.

“I did nothing wrong, you wanted me dead, you did this!” He roars. “Let go off me, I’m gonna kill him, let go!” 

“John, calm down, please.” He hears Emori beg but he can’t stop screaming and kicking. He is being dragged into a room with just a bed and grey, concrete walls. He jumps at the door as soon as it closes and punches his knuckles against it. Emori is outside, pleading him to calm down. 

“Fuck you, Bellamy, fuck you! I fucking trusted you!” He continues screaming until his voice broke and he is left wheezing and shaking horribly from anger. He starts punching the walls instead, to get rid of the aching sensation in his chest that grows stronger and more painful every second. Punching, kicking, head-butting until his body forces him to stop. There is blood and spit around him, his knuckles feels raw and they stings. He can’t move his right fingers, they are probably broken. He is still shaking, and is still furious. But he has nothing to lash out on that would bring satisfactory in his core, besides he couldn’t fight the will that was his own mind. His head really wants him to stop, so he does. 

He paces around the room to get rid of the ants that are crawling up his legs, before he throws himself on the bed. They are moving outside the room, probably to check if he had killed himself. At that moment, he kind of wish he could. But his intense phobia of death would always be the strongest will. 

“Are you calmed down?” Abby’s voice asks softly from the other side of the door. Murphy didn’t answer; he hid his eyes behind his palms to block everything out. “John, honey?” Still no answer. A click from the door was heard as Abby unlocks it and she steps inside. Carefully, she sits down on the bed by his feet and gives his leg a warm pat. “Talk to me.” 

He can’t bring more noises out of his mouth. He is still shaking so bad. 

“I will listen to you, I am here. Just, please, talk.” She isn’t begging nor using pity in her tone. She sounds professional yet friendly, and Murphy wants to get swooped into her comforting zone but can’t allow himself that safety. He doesn’t deserve it. “Okay, you don’t have to talk now, but I will come by later in the morning and then I expect you to tell me what’s going on. Use this time to rest, see you soon.” She gives him a last pat before rising to her feet. “Is Emori allowed inside?” He nods, and Abby went outside. 

As soon as Abby is out, Emori scurries inside and closes the door. She immediately climbs onto the bed beside him and brought her arm around his middle. Her chin rests on his shoulder and he feels her calming breath in his ear. They lie close beside each other like they usually do for heat, and it brings a wave of comforting through Murphy and the shaking subdues little by little. She doesn’t say anything and Murphy’s glad, they don’t need to talk. Her calm breath lulls him to a slumber and he finds himself coming closer to a sleep, but he won’t stop himself. If Emori is here then he’s safe, so he allows himself to sail on that ocean, still with his hands against his eyes because he’s afraid that if he opens them then all he will see is darkness. 

 

After some hours of sleep, Emori awakes him when a soft knock is heard on the metal door. He only stirs a little when her hand patting his cheek, since he never fell into a deep sleep anyway. He dares to remove his hands from his eyes and blinks at his friend that half lies beside him. She smiles softly down at him and he allows his lips to smile back. 

“Abby wants to talk to you”, Emori explains and jumps off the bed. “I expect you to tell me later.” 

“I’ll tell you if you tell me who that man was”, Murphy says and flinches when he hears his own voice. It sounds raw, as if someone had been using sandpaper on the walls of his throat. 

She shrugs his shoulders. “He was a nobody. I’ll be at the house, meet me there when you’re done?” He frowns slightly at her first response but nods at her proposition. She smiles and bends down to give him a small kiss on his forehead before walking out of the room. 

As Abby walks inside, he sits up with his feet dangling on the ground. She sits down beside him. Her presence is comforting, but he can’t bring himself to talk. He wouldn’t know where to start. Hell, even if he did he didn’t know how to put it. He’s never allowed himself to speak out about it before, never really allowed the thoughts in his head. It’s mostly been turmoil of hurricanes in his head, self-hate, self-destruct, and a big juicy mix of confusion, frustration, and of course anger. He feels sick. 

He could handle the thoughts before he met Bellamy again in Polis. After that it was nearly impossible. 

“Tell me, honey”, Abby says and brings her hand around his shoulders. Not trying to pull him close, but just as support. 

“I-“, he whispers, and coughs a few times to get rid of the hoarse. It didn’t work. “I-“ 

“Take your time”, she suggests and he takes a deep breath. The blood had coagulated from his torn knuckles and he picked the scabs from them. He opens and closes his mouth many times, body starts to shake again. “Tell me.” She had probably started to notice that his words were so close to break out to the surface, and prompted him to continue. “Tell me.” 

“I…” The hurricane felt bad, but Abby’s arm felt good. A broken sob left his mouth and he felt big tears roll down his cheek. Abby shushed soothingly in his ear as she brought his body closer to hers. She practically had him buried in her arms; his face against her shoulder and making her cardigan wet. He was crying now. The anger had washed off of him and he was left with blue sadness. He could barely remember the last time he had cried such big drops of tears. Was it before or after his mother had drowned in her own vomit? 

“Tell me”, Abby whispered one last time before Murphy spilled over and whined out the words he had feared for a long time.

“I loved him.” They felt unknown on his tongue, and his lips started quivering from the uneasiness. It seemed like his whole body was convulsing because of the unknown. Abby’s hand rubbed his back as he let everything he had spill on her clothing; every last drop of tears got sucked into the material. 

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay”, she promised him and for a second he believed her. But now that it was out there, at least to one person, he doubted that everything would work out. He had tried so hard to be hostile, but it had nagged him so bad in the back of his mind and he couldn’t for the life of him contain the outburst. It wouldn’t be okay, he knew that. And somehow he was okay with it, because he would be crazy if he had wished for a merciful ending between him and the man that had at more than one point wanted him dead. 

He hates Bellamy. He really does. The Rebel King had never done anything good for him. 

But there had been a time in his life when he had felt the twinge of hope whenever Bellamy had smiled or patted his shoulder in gratitude. And that twinge of hope is exactly what he felt when Bellamy wanted to talk to him. 

He breathes out on Abby’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut because they started to burn again. He couldn’t subconsciously allow himself to hope, but he couldn’t stop his mind sometimes. Especially not the thoughts, those traitorous thoughts that filled his head with images he had either made up or was flickers of memories of a good day back then. Irrelevant pictures that meant nothing, but it left him with the funny feeling in his stomach. He hates it as much as he hates Bellamy. 

He pushes away from Abby who gives him a concerned look. His lips give her a smile but they don’t reach all the way up to his eyes, so he knows she doesn’t believe in it. But she doesn’t argue when he walks out the room to go to the house. She wanted him to talk, he talked. He regretted it, but talk he did, so there was nothing left for him there. His heart felt empty, like it usually did. But so did the other organs in him. Empty, hollow. Like his expression, and eyes, as he walked out the lab and towards the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know when the next one will be up. I literally wrote this fic today (the same day it was posted) and I decided I wanted parts, just didn't know what it would be about. A continuation of this, most certainly (100%).


End file.
